


Learning Experience

by BoltedBee, orphan_account



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alcohol, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Drunk Sex, F/M, Sadism, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoltedBee/pseuds/BoltedBee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Omega Lock destroyed and all hope of returning to Cybertron with it, Megatron ends the war with his own surrender. Now, Autobot and Decepticon alike must learn to live among humans. In peace. For a certain seeker, it's easier said than done.</p><p>[INDEFINITE HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Education

**Author's Note:**

> Written by a (former) friend. I am the co-author/editor, entrusted with posting.

The monitor of the communications hub hummed as Arcee turned it on. To an outsider, the blue glow would have accented the color of her plating and given her an ethereal shine, making her a living piece of artwork that could calm the minds of any observers. For her, it was just another routine report to Optimus Prime, though even routine reports were enjoyable for her.

As Optimus’s face appeared on the monitor and he greeted her, Arcee’s mind was met with a mix of emotions. Things had been simple during the war: always a mission to run, energon mines to scout, or Decepticons to fight. Maybe humans to save. Those were days long past now, and while peace permeated the world where she was concerned, other stressors and events had taken their place. Stressors that Arcee, if she was brutally honest with herself, could not always weigh and compartmentalize properly.

It was unnecessarily difficult, she thought, but she supposed it needed to be done for Optimus’s sake. And the sake of her new human partner.

“Arcee,” Optimus greeted with his rolling bass voice. “What do you have to report?”

“Everything is as expected,” she answered as confidently as she could, but she still could not fully silence her doubts. “I trust you, Optimus, but… are you sure that the ‘Cons are ready for this?”

“Everyone possesses the ability to change, Arcee,” Optimus replied. As always, it was the tone that he used when he wished to impart a lesson; as always, she diligently listened. “We witnessed this when Megatron stood down after the Omega Lock was destroyed. I did not foresee that it would take such a destructive act to allow him to see the error of his ways.”

“I’m still not sure he has,” Arcee scowled. “Megatron still fought us for nearly a year after the Omega Lock was destroyed, remember?”

“But once he realized he could not restore Cybertron, he surrendered and never betrayed it.” Optimus hesitated, which Arcee knew was the most melancholy emotion he would ever allow himself to show. “The war was senseless, and no one achieved victory. He knows that now, and he negotiated with us in good faith. We must repay that trust.”

Arcee was unsure whether she would call it trust; desperation, maybe. But Optimus was not wrong.

“Many of the drones have already successfully integrated themselves into human society, and giving them their freedom is the right thing to do. Agent Fowler and I are continuing to track their movements to ensure that peace is maintained, but we all must be allowed to live on our own terms. The compound that serves as the former Decepticons’ home now is too similar to a prison.”

“But that’s what some of them need!” Arcee protested.

“They will all understand their place in our new home in time, Arcee. Now that our presence on Earth is known to all, it is our responsibility that we integrate ourselves into their culture. Earth may be our home away from home, but we are still guests here.”

Arcee bent to the logic of his premise, but not at the current outcome that premise meant. “But… Starscream? He’s done much worse than any of the other ‘Cons!”

“And that is why we need to observe how well he can integrate with humans on a regular basis,” Optimus intoned. “If Starscream can understand his place in the world and live alongside humans, others, such as his former Armada, will follow his lead.”

 

Arcee said nothing, but diverted her optics away from the screen.

 

“We must give him a chance to change and evolve,” Optimus went on. “We still do not know the depth of which Megatron’s influence has affected him, but I do not believe that keeping him inside the walls of the prison allows him that chance. I do understand your concern, Arcee, and it was with caution that I suggested he live with you and your human.”

“Jack would never have allowed it,” Arcee muttered.

“Yet John has stated he is comfortable with Starscream’s presence. I have faith in him, just as much as he has faith in us.”

Arcee almost betrayed her thoughts with a smile when she heard John’s name. For whatever faith John may have in Arcee, she returned that faith twentyfold.

“In addition,” Optimus continued, “Mel has told me that she does not resist the domestic arrangement either.”

Arcee had grown fond of Mel. They had met only a few times before they moved in together: Mel, the only visual artist who had been given such close access to all of the Cybertronians that she shared their appearance with the world through the Internet. She had not been taken seriously at first -- even Arcee could understand humans’ hesitation to accept their existence without more definitive proof -- but once they had all revealed themselves to the media, scientists and admirers alike flocked to Mel’s lifelike artwork, as if downloading copies of her sketches and paintings somehow brought them closer.

Still, Mel, like John, embraced their new friends as completely as they would have other humans. Arcee, for whatever doubts she may have had for humanity in whole, trusted Mel and John completely. “That surprises me,” she answered Optimus. “Starscream’s taken to rearranging Mel’s dolls without her permission. It’s almost like he wants power over them; he calls them his ‘little humans’ behind her back.”

Optimus hesitated. “That is troubling.”

“Don’t worry,” Arcee said, now without false confidence, “we’re watching him. He’s irritating Mel but I’m keeping him busy with tasks. He hasn’t done or said anything overtly dangerous, and Mel’s cat seems to be intimidating him more than any of us.”

“Affirmative,” Optimus replied. “I am confident that the three of you can keep Starscream focused on his new role on Earth.”

Arcee hoped that was true, though by agreement with the others, Starscream’s new “role” was limited to what the humans called household chores first. “When is Mel coming back?”

“Once we are done with this… convention. Most humans simply refer to it as a ‘con’.”

Arcee allowed herself to smile. The irony was not lost on any of them.

“The con shall last another three days,” Optimus said. “Then Mel shall fly back to Nevada with you.”

“And your mass displacement system is still working?”

“Yes. Ratchet’s technology has not failed us, and I have felt no discomfort or suffered any ill effects.”

“I haven’t either,” Arcee truthfully replied. What she didn’t say was that, after months of using Ratchet’s system, it still felt strange that she now stood less than twice as tall as her human. The world felt much bigger, and she almost dreaded the mere thought of how humans must view it.

“I believe it is for the best,” Optimus said as if he read Arcee’s thoughts, “as it allows us to better understand humans. We should be proud of this opportunity.”

“I am,” Arcee affirmed. “And living with John has been… educational, to say the least.”

“I am glad, Arcee.” A pause over the speakers that hummed with light static. “I am needed again for more questions. Thank you for your report. Please stay safe.”

“You too.” She waited in case there was more to hear, but there was not, so she turned off the monitor.

“Educational?” John purred from the corner of the room. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Arcee smiled, but kept her back to him so he could not see. John had, as always, kept his word by staying silent during her communications. “Did you take any notes?” she asked.

“No,” he shrugged as he approached her. “My memory is pretty sharp, but there weren’t any notes to take regardless.”

Arcee felt a little relieved, but did not express that to him either. John, like Mel, made his name across the Internet when he was among the first to know the Cybertronians had come to Earth. His writings had been relegated to conspiracy websites and Dark Web corners, the very locations Raf had used to spent so long trying to uncover and destroy in the name of Autobots’ secrecy. But John’s curiosity had been too strong, and he had relentlessly pursued them after their revelation until they could no longer ignore his requests for interviews and information. Optimus saw John’s pursuit of knowledge as an opportunity, and John became an unofficial ambassador to bridge their races.

Arcee conversely had wanted to open a ground bridge to send John to the farthest corner of the world after his pestering questions. Perhaps metaphorically, anyway. She felt lucky she had been talked out of it.

It had been Optimus’s suggestion that John and Arcee live together on a permanent basis. John used the closeness to study her and write about how the she lived her daily life, but he never made Arcee feel like some sort of scientific test subject. John, despite being in his late-20s, displayed the same sort of wonder as a boy half his age but also the maturity and respect of someone as old as Cybertron itself. His attitude had been infectious, and Arcee experienced feelings that at first had shamed her.

Her discomfort didn’t last too long, even as their relationship developed mutually into something more, and as John approached her from the back and stroked her plating at her hips, a streak of warmth snaked through her spark. She had once considered the appropriateness of the contact, and questioned her own decision to keep it hidden from everyone, including Optimus. But that moment had passed quickly, and she now desired little more than John’s touch.

Even if Arcee wanted to get back to training, or at least finding out what Starscream was probably breaking at this moment, John would have made it difficult on her. He stood as tall on his toes as he could as he kissed down along her back, keeping his hands firmly on her hips. Each press of his lips caused her to shudder; the first time many months ago, he had been surprised that her plating was so sensitive to touch. She had explained that they were all so sensitive; they just often deactivated those systems since they rarely helped any missions they had to do. But in the darkened communication room of their home, Arcee had no reason to lessen any of her sensations; and with John pressing his fingers harder into her hips, she had every reason to revel in them.

It was early in the morning, and John usually slept in a little later, but he always accompanied Arcee when she spoke with Optimus, in case there was anything important to transcribe. However, without work to do, John felt playful, and his gentle strokings against Arcee turned more aggressive. He pressed his nails against her plating, likely doing more damage to himself than her, but she enjoyed the sharper sensation all the same.

But John felt particularly aggressive that morning, and he pushed Arcee gently from behind, easing her forward until she had to support her weight by holding onto the sides of the comms console. She smiled as she heard him unbuckle his pants, and she slid open her plate covering only her valve; John had shown no interest in her spike or aft. Then again, John had once said he always preferred to look his lovers in the eyes when he took them; clearly, that was not always true.

Arcee heard John fiddle with a condom wrapper and roll it into place in record time. She had always found the invention curious; Cybertronians had more control and had little need of such a device, but given that Ratchet still had not completed his research into the effects of their energon-infused lubricant on humans, nor a human’s fluids on them, it was for the best.

And for Arcee, it didn’t matter. John wasted no time in sliding his dick into her valve, and she let out a little gasp. As with humans, her body had not fully loosened up that early in the morning, and John felt thicker than usual. She reveled in his penetrating her, but she tried not to clench him; not yet, anyway.

Usually Arcee’s lubricant came quickly; it generally took John little effort. But she always found it difficult to stop thinking of business after one of her reports to Optimus. For once she was rather thankful for the condom, as it gave them just enough lubricant that it wouldn’t be painful for her human as he thrust quickly and deeply. She was powerful, but there were times John wanted to simply take her, and she always enjoyed submitting to him when those moods struck.

And the mood must have struck him that morning as powerfully as a nuclear explosion, as he pushed against her back firmer. Her chest plate pressed against the keyboard of the comms console, and it beeped in protest to incorrect commands that were accidentally being entered. John reached as forward as he could as he attempted to grasp the back of her neck to keep her pinned down, but she was a little too tall for that; he settled on running his nails down her back again as he slowed but deepened his thrusts. Arcee arched her back, silencing the console for a moment.

Arcee’s lubricant flowed, and she felt John swell inside her. “Close already?” she purred over her shoulder. John said nothing and just pushed her again before taking a firm hold of her hips. Her chest plate caused the comms console to sing in protest again, and John thrust faster. He was so aggressive that morning, fed on by her gasps and moans, that Arcee felt he was practically ramming his dick through her more than just in her. She allowed him the power; her head tapped into the monitor with each thrust.

They both giggled at the added noise, but John’s laughter quickly died as he breathed deep gasps. Arcee had been John long enough and often enough to recognize his signals, and only then did she clench on his dick. With a final thrust that pushed her chest across the entire console, John gasped and exploded into his condom, holding tightly onto Arcee’s hips to stay upright.

Arcee smiled; she had come close to an overload, but it had been a little too quick for her. But she cared little; she felt John’s happiness, literally and figuratively, and he still warmed her valve. He would make it up to her later that night, she was sure.

John pulled out, an action that always felt physically good but emotionally disappointing for Arcee, then stood expectantly. Arcee smiled wider; John had his rituals, what he called his sexual signature, and she turned around. With her lubricant still dripping out of her valve, John stood up on his tiptoes and kissed her at the center of her chest plate, right above where her spark pulsed. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “And good morning to you too,” she said softly.

It had not been a good morning for them all, however. The communications room by design restrained most sound, but Arcee’s satisfied moans had still traveled through the door and reached the audials of Starscream, who grimaced at each. The relationship between John and Arcee scratched at his spark; humans perhaps couldn’t help sticking their noses -- or other things -- where they didn’t belong, but Cybertronians should be above them. Arcee was a traitor to the race, Starscream thought, as if being an Autobot had not been bad enough. Cavorting with humans… highly inappropriate at best, and a cardinal sin at worst.

Starscream grew angry. Why weren’t things the way they were supposed to be? For the humans it had probably felt like a long several years since the end of the war; for a Cybertronian who measured life in eons, it had barely been a twitch in his spark. He should be in charge of the Decepticons after they forced the Autobots into submission! He shouldn’t be in a small home in a tiny desert, forced to wear a mass displacement system solely for the humans’ benefit, and relegated to disposing their waste!

And in that fit of anger, he hurled the bag of trash he had been holding across the kitchen. It struck the wall, split open, and spilled the week’s detritus across the floor.

Starscream’s optics widened, then flattened in seething resignation. He glanced at the door to the communications room: if Arcee or John heard the noise, they did not come out to investigate.

Starscream sighed, then got to work picking up the mess. Waste disposal duty; it couldn’t get much worse. Then he reminded himself that Mel was due to return home in a few days, and he should enjoy the break he was getting from her.

 _That_ human, he decided, was far more trouble than she was worth.


	2. Basic Skills

Mel paid the cabbie with a normal tip and closed the door as the rising sun stung her eyes. The cab drove off, but its smell would linger on her clothes for entirely too long. She wished Arcee had picked her up from the airport, but she supposed that the attention would have been unnecessary, not to mention it would have taken even longer to return home after the inevitable delay from starstruck strangers, and she had work to do.

She looked at their large cream-colored home, a building large enough to be considered an ostentatious mansion in any other context. But the bots -- _Cybertronians_ , she corrected herself, lest Starscream take it as a slur -- needed the space. Had it not been for Ratchet’s work on a mass displacement system, they would have had to live in yet another abandoned military base, and teaching Starscream to do anything delicate would have been impossible.

Mel had always lived a modest life, but the multi-story building seemed to mingle with the clouds, standing as a monument to the existence of and continuing peace with the Cybertronians. In that, the mansion was modest; though large, its design was ordinary and not ostentatious, appearing to be a vertically stretched version of a normal two-story, four-bedroom home, complete with front and back lawns. The backyard was just was large enough to comfortably entertain a dog, though their only pet was Mel’s cat, Bubbles. Instead, they had outfitted the backyard with a human-sized grill and bar. She felt that had been the right choice.

And at least the mansion was still standing, she thought; training Starscream to do rudimentary chores had been a challenge, and she was impressed that he had only knocked holes in two walls so far. How could a creature that could morph into a jet and gracefully traverse the skies be so clumsy on land?

At least, she supposed, he had made some progress. Optimus had left Starscream’s training regimen up to Mel, and she considered what she could teach the fallen first lieutenant next.

Then her stomach rumbled, and she had her answer.

Mel walked along the gray stone path to the large front door as she considered how few weeks it had been since she agreed to their arrangement. When she had spoken with Optimus, she had expressed her concerns, but his patience and logic won the day, and she conceded to the plan. Mel felt she would never be in a position to admit it, but her close friendship with Optimus had been more two-way than she had intended. He had pressed her for details on what exactly humans do with their time; Mel answered by explaining particular interests of hers which she never thought she would ever be able to take advantage. But Optimus had instilled a sense of duty in her; they both knew she didn’t owe the Cybertronians anything, but Optimus had convinced her to give Starscream a chance in close proximity.

As she fiddled with the key for the smaller human-sized door, she idly wondered if Optimus’s voice made his ideas seem better, or if his ideas were so profound that his voice merely gave them extra weight. Whichever the case, it took him little effort to convince her of anything, especially given that his ideas ultimately always proved to be the best course of action.

She opened the door and had almost stepped through the threshold when Starscream’s body flew across the living room and shattered the sofa as Arcee landed from a spinning kick.

Mel sighed. Maybe this one idea from Optimus would be the exception to the rule.

Arcee, ever observant, ceased her attack upon seeing Mel and sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. “He was in your room again,” she shortly explained, then grimaced at the mess of wood and fabric that had been the expensive sofa for the humans only. “Sorry.”

Mel inwardly smiled; she had always found it fascinating that Cybertronians and humans had identical gestures. However, externally, she kept her face flat. “What were you doing in there, Starscream?”

Starscream groaned as he picked himself up off the ground and flicked the debris off his plating. “Nothing.” Then he paused. “The little humans on your shelves weren’t organized correctly.”

“What?”

“You had them all standing together, shoulder to shoulder. They should have been organized by their strength!” Starscream punctuated the last word by needlessly clenching his fist. “The softer, squishier ones needed to be on their back, while the stronger ones had to stand over them!”

Mel narrowed her eyes. “I kept them that way for a reason. We’ve been over this: stop going into my room, especially when I’m not here.”

“Bah,” Starscream dismissively grunted. Both of them knew he would not heed the order.

Mel scowled, but dropped the subject. “Where’s John?” she asked no one in particular.

“He went to see Ratchet about something,” Starscream grumbled. Then he took on that haughty tone that always irritated Mel to her core. “I care not for whatever his reasons are.”

Arcee averted her gaze. “It’s something for me,” she said vaguely. “I should have gone with him, but I stayed because we both know we can’t keep Starscream alone here, as you can see.”

“It’s my home too!” Starscream barked. “Though not by choice, if you remember! I traded one prison for another!”

Mel sighed again. Cybertronians may have been comparatively large creatures, but they seemed to have the same flaws and emotional weaknesses as humans. “You’re not a prisoner, Starscream,” Mel explained as she forced herself to be patient. “We just have to keep track of you until you learn some useful skills.”

“I already know everything I need to know, human!”

“Can you fix our couch?”

Starscream’s optics went wide. He sheepishly looked over his shoulder at the couch, and his wings drooped a few inches. Then they snapped back up as he once more turned aggressor. “But it’s Arcee you should blame! She _attacked_ me!”

“I already said—” Arcee started to explain.

“I don’t care,” Mel snapped. “Starscream, you’re not ready yet. We’ll deal with the couch later. Right now, you need to keep learning skills to help humans, not just yourself.” Mel closed her eyes for a moment as she took a slow breath. “I’ve had a long night. The flight was long and too early for me, and I need some coffee, so I’m going to teach you how to make it.”

“Coffee?” Starscream hissed. “That vile liquid you and John drink every morning? It smells like it would rot your stomachs.”

“Do you need me to stay for this?” Arcee asked warily. “Our... meeting with Ratchet is probably going to a while, and we probably won't be back until tomorrow.”

Mel inwardly winced at the thought of babysitting Starscream alone for an entire day, but she was too tired to care or resist. “I’ll be fine,” she answered without taking her eyes off Starscream, who avoided optic contact with her. “This won’t be difficult.”

Arcee did not look convinced, but she accepted Mel’s answer. She touched her comm link and requested a ground-bridge, which appeared presently. Arcee left without fanfare, though Starscream looked at the portal as he considered using it himself.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mel warned him. “You would just be trapped with Ratchet and Arcee both, and probably Bulkhead and Bumblebee. Unless you want to be kicked around some more.”

The ground-bridge closed after Arcee stepped through; Starscream crossed his arms. “My dear Mel, whatever would give you the idea I would do something like that?”

“Forget it,” Mel scoffed. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.” She left her luggage near the door, then swept around Starscream, who followed her like a scolded dog after glancing at the couch again.

The two rooms were separated not by a wall but only by the sharp line between the gray carpet of the living room to the black and white linoleum tiles of the kitchen. It effectively created a singular room larger than some entire apartments in which Mel had lived; she wondered if she’d ever get used to the space. A modest dining table sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, while their appliances and cupboards wrapped around the corner wall nearby, allowing even the Cybertronians to cook without tripping over furniture.

She walked to the pantry, opened it, and whispered a thank you that Starscream had not rearranged everything inside. She withdrew the large can of grounds, then presented it to Starscream. “Here.”

Starscream took the can tentatively, then experimentally shook it. Mel’s breath caught in her throat as she imagined the lid flying off and scattering the grounds across the floor, but the flimsy plastic held tight. She grabbed a filter and closed the pantry door, then led Starscream to the coffeemaker, one larger than normal for a residence. Though it was a source of energy, it also emitted annoying memories: too many nights had seen both Mel and John up for over twenty hours at a time as they worked on sharing their knowledge of the Cybertronians with the world.

“You have to lift this lid,” Mel said as she pointed, “then put a clean filter in the little plastic bowl. Can you do that?”

Starscream scowled, then followed her instructions, taking the filter and placing it in its proper position. “Don’t treat me like a sparkling,” he grumbled.

“Now just add some grounds, and--”

Starscream popped the lid off the can, then dumped half its contents into the filter, overflowing it and dropping some into the water repository.

Mel would later congratulate herself for not accidentally teaching Starscream some of her favorite profane words. “Not that much! Why do you have to ruin everything?”

Starscream winced, and his wings drooped. He backed up a couple steps and bent his knees oddly as if he wanted to squat, but he quickly recovered and stood tall. Mel noticed the weird motion, but thought nothing of it.

“Just get a spoon out of the drawer,” Mel grumbled. “A _small_ spoon, like John and I use to eat dinner. I’ll clean this up and get another filter.”

As Mel tipped over the coffeemaker to dump out as much of the grounds as she could into the sink, Starscream grunted but said nothing more as he opened the silverware drawer. He withdrew a teaspoon, holding it by the tip of its handle like a dead rat by the tail, staring at it as if it contained some long-lost mystery of life.

“Come on, Starscream,” Mel sighed. “I have work to get to.”

Starscream scowled and walked back to her, presenting the spoon with a sarcastic flourish.

“You're doing the work,” she said as she put the coffeemaker back into its normal position, refilling its water in the process. “Scoop a few spoonfuls of the grounds into the filter. 'A few' means three.”

“I know what it means, human.” Starscream muttered.

Mel watched and waited until Starscream finished the action. “Good. Now just close the lid on the coffee maker and press that big black button near the bottom.”

Starscream did so. He put the spoon and coffee can on the counter and watched with idle fascination at the tiny drips the appliance dropped in the decanter. “This is what gets you humans excited?”

Mel glanced at him sideways, but said nothing.

Starscream fidgeted. “Do I have to just stand here and watch it?” he finally asked.

“You don't have to. And in fact, I am a little hungry, so I can teach you something else while we wait for the coffee to finish.”

Starscream regretted asking the question. “Everything is so much simpler with Cybertronians. We don't have to go through entire _rituals_ just to eat.”

Mel walked over to the fridge and gripped its handle so tightly that she nearly broke it off. “If I have a ritual,” she says in a low voice, “it's that I don't like to be questioned, interrupted, and annoyed before I get anything in my stomach. So can you _please_ focus? Or this will take so long that Cybertron will restore _itself_ before you learn anything!”

Starscream's wings drooped. Whatever he may have done during the war, and though his and the Autobots' ideologies were opposing, he had believed in restoring their planet as much as any of them had. He was used to feeling anger, jealousy, or annoyance at the humans; it was the first time he ever felt sad, but he wouldn’t show it. He certainly wouldn’t show Mel, of all humans.

Mel saw nothing wrong with him, though she forced herself to calm down long enough to pull a carton of eggs from the fridge and ready a skillet. “Eggs are easy,” she said as her voice approached normalcy. “You just crack them gently.” She looked directly into his optics. “ _Gently_ , Starscream.”

Starscream scoffed as Mel took took an egg from the carton. She tapped it a couple times against the edge of the skillet, then split the shell apart with both hands. The egg white and yolk pooled in the center of the skillet as perfectly as if Mel was a professional chef.

Starscream grumbled a noise, then gently took a new one from the carton as Mel threw away her empty shell. He examined it carefully, unsure what exactly he was looking at. Mel pointed to the edge of the skillet, and Starscream gently tapped it where she indicated. It cracked just as hers had. “Good,” she said with genuine relief.

Starscream brought the egg back to his optics to examine the white slowly dripping out of the crack. He idly wondered why humans liked them so much.

“Now into the skillet, Starscream, before you ruin my floor.”

Starscream winced and resisted squatting again, hiding his displeasure from Mel. However, her order angered him once more, and he forgot how fragile his ingredient was. He slid his slender fingers into the egg as Mel had done but split the shell too violently. He got most of the egg in the skillet, though the rest splattered across the stove and Mel’s shirt.

Mel wanted to be angry, but Starscream flailed his hands over the skillet in an attempt to rid himself of the egg slowly sliding and dripping off his plating. She hid a smile; clumsy or careless, there were certain moments when he appeared childlike and adorable that even she couldn’t be irate. It helped her focus on the task, and she took a long breath. “Try again,” she said as she retrieved a paper towel to clean her shirt. “Don’t worry about the mess. We’ll clean everything later. Just be more careful this time.”

Starscream didn’t enjoy his mistakes any more than any human or Cybertronian, but he prided himself on not making the same mistake more than once. He removed another egg, tapped it against the edge of the skillet, then successfully split the shell to dump it on the skillet. It didn’t look neat, but it didn’t have to, and he disposed of the shell without incident.

Mel removed a plastic spatula from the silverware drawer. “There are a million ways to cook eggs. Scrambling them is the easiest. You make a downward motion through them, like you’re cutting them with the spatula while stirring them.” She demonstrated, then handed over the spatula.

Starscream took the utensil warily, but he scrambled the eggs as Mel had taught. “Is this right?”

“So far,” she said stiffly. She glanced at the coffee maker, which had almost finished filling the decanter. “It must be nice only consuming one thing,” she muttered. “Probably gets boring.”

“Your feline does not seem to mind,” Starscream replied, glancing at Bubbles’s food dish which sat in the corner of the kitchen. “Besides, we did have other foods, luxuries. The war destroyed a lot of it; we needed soldiers to fight, not civilians to make unnecessary things.”

Mel rubbed her hands nervously, and scratched at some loose skin near her nails. She had rarely asked about the war; she was too focused on the present, and irrelevant memories did nothing for her artwork. “You’re doing well,” she said. “The eggs are almost done. They don’t take long.”

Starscream grumbled again. “Don’t you need a plate, human?”

Mel wryly smiled at the thought of Starscream being more focused than she was for once, but she did indeed leave him to the cooking as she collected a plate, mug, and fork for herself. Less than a minute later, Starscream transferred the eggs onto the plate for her while she poured herself the coffee. They sat together at the table that was large to Mel but the equivalent of a normal-sized dinner table to Starscream.

Starscream had little to do, so he sat and fidgeted while watching Mel eat. She did so silently until she had drained nearly her entire mug of coffee. “Sorry,” she finally said. “About earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“I didn’t mean to make you think about Cybertron.”

Starscream narrowed his optics, unsure whether the apology was genuine, but judged that she was not being malicious. “Humans don’t think much about what’s not happening in front of them,” he said haughtily. “We however have long memories.”

“And better ones,” Mel added a little gloomily as she finished her coffee. “I’m not sure I’d want to recall everything from my past with that much clarity. Life isn’t perfect, Starscream, even if I didn’t have to fight in a war. There are points in my life I’d sooner completely forget.”

Starscream started, then studied Mel a little more closely. Surely she wouldn’t empathize with some of his troubles, would she?

Mel finished off her eggs. “They were pretty good for your first try,” she said, resuming her normal tone that possessed that nearly imperceptible edge. “Now you just need to clean up, which I shouldn’t have to help you with.”

Starscream recoiled, and his wings extended and stiffened in rage. Certainly, he thought, the idea of Mel being empathetic about anything was a momentary lapse in his judgment. “I just finished cooking for you! I’m not your servant!”

“Your chores are part of your integration, remember? Or shall we contact Optimus and see what he has to say about you shirking your duty?”

“Duty?” Starscream barked. “You know nothing about duty!”

“I know plenty about you wasting my time though,” Mel scowled. “I may be stuck with you all day like Arcee said, but I have my own work to do, and deadlines to meet. I’m sure you can handle this without me.”

Mel said nothing more as she stood and approached the coffee decanter for a second dose. Starscream growled not so quietly and nearly punched the table in rage, but he sheepishly looked toward the shattered couch and thought better of it. He decided to yield to Mel’s demands for the moment; he was certain it wouldn’t be much longer before he found a measure of revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and crits welcome.  
> Pictures coming soon. (will be added in chapter 1).


	3. Challenging Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream learns about things he never intended to know.

When the decision had been made for Mel to share a home with John and Arcee, the mansion had been designed and built to meet their needs. Mel had not requested a studio, though she reserved a nook in her bedroom on the first floor to serve as her studio. None of her roommates bothered her within it; even Starscream viewed that corner of her room as sacrosanct.

But her nook was not an alternate dimension that granted her total focus, and concentration was more difficult to achieve on some days than others. She had taken a commission to draw Starscream and Arcee “frolicking,” whatever that meant to her. Not only was the request’s wording ridiculous, but the idea of it as well, and she struggled to imagine any situation where it would be even remotely believable. However, the job paid, so she was determined to see it through.

She sat at her desk with her large drawing tablet powered off in front of her. Despite being a digital artist, she was more comfortable drawing preliminary ideas on paper, and the blank page of her sketch pad annoyed her. She tried to imagine the Cybertronians’ positions and body language, but each idea that crossed her mind seemed less plausible. The only poses that leapt to mind depicted Starscream breaking something, and she in fact kept her ears open in case she heard a crash.

Starscream managed to perform his chores without wanton destruction, though he frequently peeked into her open doorway. Mel had left the door open in case Starscream needed her, but though he operated on his own without mistakes, she could almost feel him staring. She had not possessed the forethought to arrange her studio nook in a different corner since she rarely sketched with the door open.

She had to admit that life with the Cybertronians had not been what she expected. She and John had been old friends -- friends with benefits, at that -- even before the Cybertronians revealed themselves to the world. It had been a somewhat unusual pairing: both had been miserable about their separate lack of successes in their chosen artistic fields, but found comfort in each other’s presence; and, if Mel was honest with herself, she always grew excited at the mere glance of John’s long black hair and permanently tan skin. He had been just as generous with his compliments of her appearance, including her matching brown eyes and hair, despite the supposed imperfections of freckles on her skin and his preference for black hair. She considered independent of John’s opinion whether to dye her hair black anyway.

For reasons on both their parts, they had not been able to pursue a closer relationship and had drifted out of each other’s lives aside from the occasional e-mail or social network exchange. She had not expected to be back in John’s life beyond an Internet barrier. However, at the Cybertronians’ “coming out” press conference, both had been in attendance for different reasons, and they had reconnected. They had not rekindled beyond that, so she had been surprised when John and Arcee jointly created the housing arrangement, and she had been further surprised when Optimus suggested she live with them.

Mel had to some degree imagined that life with Cybertronian roommates would be thrilling, full of adventure like what those three now-famous kids had gone through. Instead, with the war settled, Mel had essentially traded one group of roommates for another. Where her former human roommates were slobs and couldn’t motivate themselves to do the dishes, her new Cybertronian roommates -- at least one of them -- were clumsy and needed to be taught rudimentary tasks. She had become a babysitter; even if it was to the Cybertronians, she wondered whether it had truly been an upgrade.

Mel snapped herself out of her reminiscing. As the sun started to set, she flipped on her bedroom lights and cursed herself for her lack of progress. It had taken all day, and she had little more than rough lines of only Starscream. Her deadline loomed, and she placed her sketch pad on her desk, scowling at the ocean of white space on the paper as if her willpower could force the image into existence.

With an irritated huff, she pushed herself away from her desk, riding her rolling office chair across the floor. She exited her bedroom and rolled to the kitchen, momentarily thankful the gray carpet of the living room was not plush. Starscream found her behavior odd, but barely acknowledged her presence. Mel snatched some of her favorite whiskey out of the fridge and slammed the door a little harder than she meant to, then retreated back into her room.

Starscream’s curiosity drove him to peek into her bedroom again. Mel sat at her desk with her back to the door as she drank a significant portion of her whiskey. She exhaled, absently swirled the drink, then took another sip. He looked past her at the rough sketch, and he scoffed. “I should be paid too,” he grumbled.

Mel sputtered on her drink. “What?” she asked with more irritation than she intended.

Starscream leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “I said, I should be paid too. You are drawing _me_ , after all.”

“You don’t need money,” she said with dismissive laugh. The buzz had struck her already; then again, she had already drunk a bit before starting her drawing session. “Bots -- I mean, Cybertronians don’t need to buy anything.” She took another long drink. “Besides, I’d just garnish your earnings.”

“Garnish?”

“Yes. I’d take it. To replace the couch you broke, remember?”

Starscream narrowed his optics. “It surely doesn’t cost that much to replace a couch.”

“You overestimate how much John and I earn.”

Starscream ignored that. “And maybe there would be things I’d want to buy. I told you this morning, we didn’t consume just energon on Cybertron. There were many luxuries to purchase. The war just stopped much of it.”

“Ha!” Mel barked.

Though Mel’s reaction had been due to her sudden imagination of Starscream perusing a mall-like building and comparing clothes to buy, Starscream took her laughter as a mockery of the war that drove him to Earth in the first place. The misunderstanding did not sit well with him, especially since the war had not been over for long. “Cybertron was beautiful!” he argued. “Did I ever tell you about my home city?”

“I don’t believe you have,” Mel replied, slightly less interested in it than her whiskey.

“Vos was a jewel!” Starscream attested. “You have nothing like it on Earth! Most of us were fliers, so the buildings stretched higher than you could ever see from the ground! And we had decorations, like your parks, but they were made of… well, I suppose you would call them crystals, human, though the word isn’t quite right.”

“It does sound lovely,” she said with a flat tone that did not convey her genuine interest.

“It’s more than ‘lovely’! You probably would have liked it.” Starscream crossed his arms as wings rose subtly. “I’m sure one of us would have given you a tour if you visited. _We_ wouldn’t have treated outsiders as our personal slaves!”

“You are not my slave,” Mel countered as she brandished the half-empty whiskey bottle. She felt her voice starting to slur. “You are paying off your debt to society. _Debt_ , Starscream. Which means no money for you.”

Starscream clenched his fist. “You should _not_ talk to me like that! I could crush you, and blow this mansion of yours to ashes! Then what would you do?”

“ _Then_ , I’d be able to concentrate,” she retorted as she returned her gaze to the sketch pad. She grasped a pencil with one hand, though she didn’t let go of the bottle with the other.

“And that alcohol helps?”

“It doesn’t hurt!” Not exactly the truth when she started seeing double the sketch lines, but Starscream didn’t need to know that.

“Bah!” Starscream snapped. He finally calmed his annoyance enough that he unclenched his fists, and he dismissively waved to Mel’s back. “Continue your drawing, human. Some of us have actual work to do.”

Mel wanted to respond, but Starscream retreated from the doorway before she could, and she wasn’t sure what she would have said anyway. Instead, she took another drink, then furiously scratched at the paper with her pencil.

Hours passed. Had Mel looked out her bedroom window, she would have seen a clear starry night with a full moon that painted the landscape in an ethereal glow. Instead, the only glow in her bedroom emanated from her drawing tablet, powered on but unused, sitting on her desk. The sketch lines on her drawing pad had become blurrier, and her office chair felt like it was a floating raft. She didn’t know whether it took more concentration to maintain balance or draw.

Not that what she had made could be considered much of drawing. She had sketched Starscream four times in four different poses across her page, leaving no room for Arcee. Each of Starscream’s poses represented irritation, annoyance, arrogance… nothing that would be considered “frolicking.”

Mel pushed herself away from her desk again, rolling across the carpet. She overshot the fridge and nearly tumbled off her chair, then angrily kicked her feet to return to it. She threw open the door, but she had finished her favorite whiskey. John still had some of that strawberry-flavored vodka. She snorted with laughter; since when did John drink, anyway? He never had when they had had their fling. And fruit vodka? Good thing John wasn’t the type to care about appearing to be traditionally over-masculine!

But it would do, so Mel grabbed it out of the fridge with a clatter. She slammed the door shut, then kicked off it with both feet to wheel herself back toward her room. But halfway along the floor, her wheels caught on something, and she fell out of the chair with a crash.

Mel wouldn’t have felt nearly as embarrassed as she did had she not heard Starscream grunt from the corner of the living room. She knew that grunt: Starscream never laughed as much as he scoffed, and she _heard_ his smirk despite not looking at him. Typical.

To make it worse, Starscream walked over. No, not walked, she thought: glided? He moved with a fluidity he did not often possess, and he almost skipped over to her. It was simultaneously adorable and infuriating. “And you blame me for the couch,” he hummed in delight. “You just broke John’s drink!”

Mel snatched up the bottle. It had a thin crack, and drops of the vodka gently popped out. She rotated the bottle in her hands to keep the crack at the top, and the leak stopped. “Easily fixed,” she huffed. “Not like the couch!”

“Your face is red,” Starscream said in a voice half-curious and half-mocking. “Are you feeling all right, human?”

“I’m fine!” Mel shouted.

“I thought not.” Starscream’s grin grew as he looked down at her. “I must say, this feels more right. Despite your tiny size, you always want to try to command me, don’t you?”

“If I only could!” Mel snapped. She reached for the chair to stabilize herself to rise, but it rolled just out of her grasp. “Damnit. What did I even--” She looked at the wheels of the chair. “More pieces of the couch! You were supposed to clean everything up! You ruin everything, Starscream!”

Starscream twitched and automatically started to squat, but quickly righted himself.

“What are you doing?” Mel snapped as she groped for the chair once more. “You keep doing that.”

Starscream stood to his full height, or at least what he could with the mass displacement device still attached to his arm. “I don’t have to explain myself to you!” He narrowed his optics. “You have shown me no respect since I got here! The only reason I haven’t crushed you into paste is because you’re friends with the Prime, and he would do even worse to me!”

“I’m so sorry,” Mel replied with an eye roll, her voice bursting with sarcasm. Then she focused, and her tone became biting. “As patient as Optimus is, even he wouldn’t give you as many chances as I’ve given you.”

Starscream glowered as he towered over her. Mel looked up calmly at him, showing no concern despite lying between his ankles. “I was happy to serve Megatron, even if we didn’t win the war! If we had more time, and if you humans and remembered your place and stayed on your backs like you are now, we would have dominated the Autobots, and we would have dominated you too! That’s the way it was supposed to have happened!”

“Prove it!” Mel challenged.

Starscream softly gasped in surprise, but tried to keep his expression level. “I don’t need to prove anything to you, human.”

“Just what I thought,” Mel chuckled as she sat up. “You couldn’t have dominated anything, Starscream. Certainly not our entire race. You can’t even dominate me alone.”

Starscream dropped to the floor and grasped Mel’s form-fitting black tank top by the neckline. Mel gasped and leaned back, but did not resist. “Do you need me to dominate you, human?”

Mel barely scowled. “You can try.”

With a single motion, Starscream’s long fingers tore through the fabric of her tank top, and he roughly pulled it downward, tearing it in half. It clung to her shoulders, but the tatters fell to her sides as Starscream grasped the waistline of her black shorts and repeated his motion. Mel breathed a tiny moan as her shorts were literally ripped off her, but still she did not resist.

Starscream’s codpiece slid aside as his fingers tore through her white panties, and he extended his spike as he considered her… valve? He didn’t know the word humans used, and didn’t particularly care: the human, he reasoned, had issued the challenge, so it was her fault if she couldn’t take him.

Starscream felt no reason to wait. His spike was narrow enough at the tip; even if she couldn’t take him in full, she would take him in part, so he pushed her legs open and plunged his spike into her.

“Fuck!” Mel gasped with a loud moan.

Even as she threw herself back to lie on the floor, her epithet caused Starscream paused. The word had always been connected to her irritation, and often directed at him. Yet there she lay, offering herself by keeping her arms as spread as much as her legs. With more trepidation than he cared to admit, he planted his hands by her head and thrust repeatedly into her.

“Fuck!” she gasped again. “Yes!”

Once more he hesitated, but it did not last long. His spike conferred the physical stimulation of his motions, but his processors provided the most stimulation as he watched Mel’s eyes close, her mouth widening as she accepted him. She moaned with every thrust, each gasp coming louder, sharper.

Starscream adjusted his balance. He found himself getting deeper with each thrust, her body opening up more to him. He felt her own fluids -- did humans have lubricant? -- flow and coat his spike. It was like her body knew it needed to be dominated!

Starscream smiled as he needed to adjust his balance again. This was what needed to happen! This is how it was always supposed to be! Megatron rendered irrelevant, the Decepticons in control, the humans subservient! And this one human, _his_ human, would be his first conquest! Just the thought of his control, his power, rushed his transfluid to his spike.

He had not realized he had closed his optics. He opened them only to see Mel looking back, a grin spread across her lips, her gasps now loud enough to shake the walls and in perfect rhythm to his motions. And as his transfluid begged to be released, he was struck with the full realization of his actions. She was no one’s human! They _had_ lost the war, and Optimus would extinguish his spark at the very least for this crime! Starscream could not stop the processes in motion, so he roughly pulled his spike out of her. As he regained his balance, he overloaded, and his transfluid burst forth to strike and cover Mel’s pelvis.

Starscream felt relieved, horrified, and frightened simultaneously. He leaned back on his knees as he watched the blue fluid trace the curves of Mel’s body and dribble to the floor.

But Mel herself showed more annoyance at her state than anything else. She scowled deeper, even as her face reddened mostly from irritation. “I thought you were going to dominate me!” she grumbled. Though she had to breathe deeply to control her voice, her tone had not lost its edge. “You bots measure your lives in eons, and the best you can give me is thirty seconds?”

Starscream’s anger returned, and he resumed his former position. He slid his spike into her more carefully, not out of compassion, but to aid his aim and angle. Mel’s moans and gasps resumed as if he had not stopped; he could control his spike’s extension as easily as his wings, and he fully maintained it as he thrust into her again. She shifted her shoulders to get a better angle, but Starscream had had enough of her taunting, so he pinned her shoulders down to keep her still.

Mel moaned louder as Starscream’s spike spread her body for him. His more deliberate thrusts widened her, and his spike greedily buried itself in her body, helped by her apparent lubricant. Each time he pressed deeper and felt more of her body, her volume rose. Starscream relished the noises, likening them to the moans of pain of helplessness, and his processors rushed a second load of transfluid to his spike.

But once more, as he felt his spike pulse with its last warning, he dared to look at her, and Mel returned his gaze with one of her own. The eye-to-optic contact made him uncomfortable, but his body could not quit. He once more pulled out -- a little more gently this time -- and unleashed his transfluid in the same spot, coating her pelvis and navel with his sticky blue seed.

“No!” Mel said, a little more sharply than she intended, though the single word carried the entirety of her disappointment. “Why won’t you come in me?”

“What?” Starscream asked, confused, as he tried to lean back.

Mel shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Overload! You need to overload in me! Or else that’s not domination! Show me why you should have taken Megatron’s spot!”

Starscream’s processors and spark fought each other. Too many memories of what had transpired with Megatron aboard the _Nemesis_ still haunted him and intruded upon his conscious thoughts. Part of him wanted revenge, the same part that hated the human for even bringing it back to his attention despite his trying to forget it.

Yet the rest of Starscream felt different. Despite Mel’s taunting -- unintentional or not -- he knew that she was not Megatron in any shape or form. Once more they shared eye-to-optic contact, and he felt something stir in his spark that he could not explain, a flutter that he had no time to contemplate or examine. In that moment, there was only a single action he wanted to take to conclude his evening.

Starscream once more resumed his position. Mel’s lubricant -- Starscream promised himself to find out what humans actually call it -- flowed out of her as an invitation to him, and he slid his spike into her hesitantly. She gasped and moaned; he did not thrust at first, more curious and confused than anything. But Mel physically encouraged him, rolling and pressing her hips into him.

Starscream took the cue and braced himself, planting his palms against the floor. Mel may have enjoyed her shoulders pinned before, but she reached up and held onto Starscream’s arms. Her touch was firm but not aggressive; Starscream assumed it was merely for comfort.

He was comfortable as well as he continued his thrusting, which was not as rhythmic as it had been before. Mel removed her touch from Starscream’s arms long enough to unhook the front clasp of her bra, and her breasts exploded out of their confinement as they bounced to Starscream’s thrusts. His unfamiliarity with human anatomy, and his unfamiliarity with this entire side of Mel’s personality, caused him an extreme nervousness. His thrusts came slower, but unconsciously deeper: he had widened Mel almost enough to take the entirety of his spike.

Starscream tipped his head back and closed his optics to relish in the sensation, a taboo that arguably broke whatever conventions had been negotiated between Optimus and Megatron. Just one more way to get back at his former master, Starscream supposed: even if Mel and Megatron had never met and had nothing to do with each other, Starscream enjoyed the idea of rebelling against Megatron any way he could.

His thrusts turned deliberate, deep enough that Mel’s gasps and moans turning sharper, maybe even out of pain. Rebellion was exciting, the taboo was exciting, and the physical sensations were deeply pleasurable. Starscream could not decipher her noises, so he opened his optics to meet her gaze. Once more, she looked back at him, her head tipped back but her eyes shining and engaged.

Her expression had a power over Starscream that would have disrupted him in any other circumstance, but he enjoyed himself and her far too much to mind. He could not stop her gaze from further exciting him though, and he felt his spike quiver at the transfluid being brought to its base.

Mel must have sensed it too. “Overload in me,” she gasped quietly between her moans.

Starscream hesitated, but Mel locked her legs around his as best she could. His body size still towered over her, the equivalent of an impossibly large human despite the mass displacement, and he could have easily escaped her legs by exerting minimal effort. But her legs kept him mentally balanced more than physically, and he had no desire to escape.

All of Starscream’s desire concentrated in the base of his spike, though his transfluid did not want to stay there for long. He thrust deeper and found his rhythm; Mel matched it with a roll of her hips, and they moved as one as he felt the beginnings of his overload. He had come close to the point of no return, a last chance to pull out and add to the blue transfluid had that pooled near her navel and still ran off the curves of her flesh. But her gaze kept him from doing so.

Starscream braced his feet against the floor as Mel continued pressing into him. He felt the rush to his spike as Mel’s moans reached their crescendo. He didn’t know how exactly she did it, but her body clenched tightly around his spike, which was all the encouragement he needed. He raspily growled as he conceded to his sensations, and he overloaded his last transfluid of the night deeply inside her.

They stayed connected as silence befell the mansion, broken only by their deep breaths. Starscream looked away in nervousness and a sliver of shame, but he forced himself to look back at Mel for direction. She grinned back at him and wiped some of the sweat from her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

Starscream blinked, not sure whether she meant for the whole night or just because he followed her order. He shifted his hips, and Mel lowered her legs from his, so he gently slid out of her. She moaned once more as her body settled back into place. He reached for her, unsure of what to do; her clothes were in tatters, with only her bra intact despite open and out of place on her shoulders.

Mel took another moment to catch her breath. She groped again for her chair, which had rolled all the way to the kitchen. Instead, she reached up to Starscream, who started to stand. Once on his feet, he helped her to hers, but she seemed unable to stand. As the full realization of what had happened struck him, Starscream picked her up and cradled her, not out of affection, but out of fear that she may be hurt.

“You did good,” she slurred as she patronizingly patted his arm. “Better than I thought you would.”

Her words stung his pride, as they usually did, but he didn’t show it as he carried her to her bedroom. “I’m surprised you wanted me,” he hissed quietly. The silence bothered him more than he wanted to admit. “Or is it common for humans to be with others they hate?”

“I don’t hate you,” she said. “You’re just irritating sometimes.”

Starscream didn’t know how to take that as he carried her into her bedroom. He glanced at the sketch pad with four versions of him staring back, then laid her on her bed.

Mel couldn’t keep her eyes open as she relaxed. She started to adjust her covers in an effort to slip under the blanket, but gave up after a moment. Starscream recognized the signs: she was about to sleep, as she often did after drinking far too much of that alcohol. “Just irritating,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll work on it.”

“We’ll… work on it?” Starscream echoed.

“Why not?” Mel yawned. “You’re not beyond hope, Starscream. You’re just -- what’s John’s favorite word? -- obnoxious.”

Starscream said nothing as he stared down at her.

“Don’t worry,” she said after a moment of the awkward silence. “We’ll work on it. We’ll work on it.”

Starscream remained confused, not helped by her words giving way to light snoring. He shuffled backward out of her room, knocking into her desk in the process. Another jolt of fear shot through him as he imagined her tools getting damaged, but he had barely bumped it. He sighed, chastised himself, and quickly shuffled out of her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and crits always welcome.


End file.
